


Bring You Down

by IMtrinity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-01-27
Packaged: 2018-03-09 08:10:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3242492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMtrinity/pseuds/IMtrinity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mark of Cain is affecting Dean in more ways than one. Can Castiel help before Dean spirals out of control? And will Dean even let him get that close?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring You Down

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains Mature Content and Slash. Also, there are SPOILERS here including and up to Season 10, Ep 9.  
> I may have taken some liberties when it comes to the Mark of Cain for this fic. Reviews are always appreciated! Enjoy!

Dean finds it difficult to breathe when Cas is around, like the angel is sucking the very air from the room. He’ll never admit it, not even to Sam, but from the first moment Castiel walked into his life he knew something had shifted. The Dean Winchester he knew was gone.

Cas’s eyes arrest him when he speaks, demanding his full attention. They are a blue so fucking, ridiculously blue that has nothing to do with his vessel, Jimmy Novak. No, that man is long gone now, destroyed and rebuilt more times than Dean can ponder. Cas kept the visage of his vessel because he knew it was familiar, safe.

The voice is gravel and grit and intoxicating, and Dean has to remember not to stare at the moving lips, because he’s that far gone and is losing his will. Cas doesn’t notice, thankfully, his eyes flitting away from Dean as is the norm, taking in the surroundings like seeing them for the first time. Dean used to find it annoying. Now he finds it a blessing.

They work quietly, hardly exchanging a word. It seems unnecessary when they are so in sync. Of course there are the other days too, when Cas is practically in his face, eyes dark and piercing and Dean reverts to being an asshole and belittling Cas just because it’s familiar. There’s too much anger sometimes, too much pent-up emotion screaming for release and he hates it when Cas is being so damn patient with him, as if he were the child.

His arm burns. It’s not from pain. It’s a delicious sort of heat, like scratching at a mosquito bite till it bleeds and loving the relief it brings, if only for a few seconds. When he touches the Mark he feels only desperation, a need so profound he doesn’t dare name it.

There is nothing around him to kill, save for his brother and Cas. But the Mark doesn’t care; it demands anyway. They’ve found nothing useful for getting rid of it, to no one’s surprise. Dean doesn’t say it but he knows it’s pointless. The Mark is his burden and he has to deal with it.

“You shouldn’t berate your brother like that.”

Dean doesn’t even look up at the remark, just rolls his eyes and stuffs his face full of burrito. Cas has a point but he doesn’t care at the moment. Sam was pissing him off and he got what he deserved. Now Sam is gone, for a while anyway, and it’s just him and Cas. Dean is not to be left alone. It’s like an unspoken agreement between the angel and his brother.

“Sam’ll get over it. He’s a big boy,” he intones between bites. He stares down at a magazine, because he long ago gave up the boring, archaic texts in the Bunker. He can practically see Cas pursing his lips in his periphery. For some reason he loves to get Cas riled up.

“That’s not the point, Dean. You’re supposed to be working together, not ripping each other to shreds.” Dean hears the admonishment, but it’s drowned out by the deep baritone and again he has to fight not to look up. He resorts to being a childish dick.

“Screw you, Cas. You try living in my shoes for a day and see how long you last before sniping at someone. Believe me, this is me restraining myself,” he growls.

Cas doesn’t take the bait. He chooses to leave Dean be. For now.

***

He dreams of strong arms and heat, intoxicating, delirious heat, and eyes that burn to his soul. He lets himself relax, warmed by the touches and he lazily reaches around and his fingers brush something soft yet sturdy. Curious, his eyes graze over and his vision is filled with large, monstrous wings, black and gray and blazing with light. It scares him so much he recoils.

He wakes in a panic, sweat pouring from every orifice. His heart is trance-like in its melody and he’s so wide awake he knows there’s no point in trying to sleep anymore. He sits up in bed, hands raking through his damp hair. He needs a shower and maybe a hard drink. He wants to clear his head of all the images flashing through and he wants to sear it to memory because he’s never known such bliss, dream or not.

There’s no doubt in his mind who he saw in his dream. There’s not that many people that could stir up that sort of emotion in him. He never dared let anyone in like that. Sure there was always Lisa, but she represented another sort of dream, one that could never come to fruition. He tried playing house. It didn’t end well. No, that sort of life-- wife, kids, white picket fence-- that is not in his cards. He knows and accepts this.

But what he experienced was more...basic. Primal. Like the Mark that always demands payment, this newly nagging itch is slowly becoming more impossible to ignore and even harder still not to scratch.

And if a certain angel ever found out… Cas would smite him on the spot for even defiling him with his thoughts. And yet, Cas always seems to enjoy his company. Hell at one point he found something in Cas that he had long lost with Sam. A comradeship that he didn’t realize he was lacking, and once he had it in his grasp he never wanted to let it go.

Of course you can’t have everything that you want and when he found out what Cas had done to them, to him...The lies and betrayals and breaking Sam’s head like an eggshell. Dean nearly lost it then. It was too much. Still, life has a funny way of turning things around. They had both screwed up and have been trying to rebuild their friendship, and the trust. It was hard at times, for both of them. And now Cas’s wings are clipped and Dean’s a monster, and they’ve both moved on from their pasts.

He gets out of bed after an hour of staring into the darkness. He pads out of his room in his drenched tee and loose sweats, feet bare and cold against the smooth, concrete floor. A soft glow radiates from the library. Curious, he walks towards the light, not at all surprised to find Cas in there, perpetually looming over a book. He looks up in surprise as Dean enters, glances at the clock in question, then back at Dean.

“Is everything alright?”

Dean shrugs, plops down near Cas in a plush armchair. He rubs at his eyes but he’s not tired. Cas never sleeps, at least not when his grace is at full power. At least he removed his trench coat.

“Nightmare.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling Cas this, because if it was Sam, he would lie. He doesn’t want to lie to Cas. Not even to shield him from his treacherous thoughts. Cas doesn’t press, just gives him a look, one both calming and apologetic. Dean has to look away.

“Even when I did sleep, I never dreamt. I’m not sure if it’s a blessing or a curse.”

Dean ponders this. “It can be both. I’ve had some pretty awesome dreams, and some shitty ones. You can’t control them, though, so that kinda sucks. But people tend to have nicer dreams versus crappy ones.

“And your nightmare? I’ve heard they are a reflection of the current turmoil in one’s life. Is that true?”

Dean swallows and remembers his dream. Not really a nightmare after all, but it will become one if he ever voices it to Cas. The angel must have seen something on his face.

“I’m sorry, Dean. I didn’t mean to bring it up. We can talk about something else.”

Dean blinks, sighs. “It’s fine, Cas. It’s just a dream.”

***

Cas is suffocating him. He doesn’t even realize it’s happening until one random day when he can’t avoid the fact. The Bunker is quite large, but it feels like he doesn’t have enough space to breathe. Cas is with them always now, except when he volunteers to go to the market or for a beer run. Dean thinks he just wants proper air.

It’s not until Cas leaves that Dean feel it. A lightness. It’s like he was holding something back around Cas and he wasn’t fully himself until the angel was no longer there. The thought scares the crap out of him because he feels like he’s being paranoid, or losing his mind. It’s just Cas. Harmless, little Cas, his friend.

As soon as Cas comes back, Dean’s blood pressure rises and he has to bolt from the room. He escapes to the bathroom, and that’s when he realizes the Mark is an angry red and when he presses a finger to it, it singes him, turning him rock hard.

Holy fuck.

His whole body is flush, tingling with need. The need to slice through flesh, to main, to draw blood. And there is also something else. Judging from his lower half he has a pretty good guess what else he wants.

He hasn’t gotten laid in weeks, maybe months. No wonder he is dreaming of Cas nearly nightly now. He was so fucking horny he envisioned the first red-blooded thing on legs he knew. Lust, power, desire, they were all tied to the Mark as well. That indescribable feeling he got when he used the Blade, it was so similar to the countless times he spent sinking into hot flesh, pulsing all around him. Building, building until he saw fucking stars.

The problem is not Cas, he realizes, it’s the fact that he needs to have sex. Like a.s.a.p. He needs to escape the Bunker and find a bar. But he knows Sam and Cas won’t let him out of their sights. If he explains his issue though... No, probably wouldn’t go over well. At least not with Sam.

Frustration coils in his belly and the Mark pulses with life. He clenches to the sink like a lifeline and takes a few deep breaths. Fucking thing has a mind of its own. He despises it almost as much as he loves it. He feels powerful and enslaved both at the same time. And currently he isn’t allowed to give in to the Mark’s needs.

He leaves the bathroom and goes to find Cas. He’s in the kitchen, reading a label on the back of some can. He looks pensive and alluring standing there, Dean nearly forgets to breathe.

“Half of these ingredients aren’t even found in nature,” Cas says with a frown. “How can you put these...chemicals into your body?”

Dean shrugs. “I’ve done worse to my body.” He nearly misses as Cas’s gaze briefly shifts to Dean’s arm. He comes closer, which is a mistake as he feels that same, swift, drowning sensation whenever he’s in Cas’s eye line. But he covers it up by popping a cherry tomato he plucks from a bowl in his mouth, giving Cas his best grin. Cas nearly rolls his eyes, which would be a true wonder to witness, and removes his trench coat.

Muscles constrict under tight cloth and Dean nearly chokes on a mouthful of tomatoes, turning away to distract himself. He needs to get a grip, and fast. His face is ablaze and his heart hammers away inside his chest, so loud, he’s surprised Cas can’t hear it from where he’s standing. He’s going to die from this torment, he’s certain of it.

***

He tries to jerk off in the shower. Always a favorite pastime, he has no issue whatsoever getting it up within seconds. His fingers clench around his cock as his eyes shut from the delicious sensation. He knows what he likes and right now he just needs to get the job done. It’s been too long, and after Cas and his damned muscles and his dark, gravelly voice and his bright blue eyes, and thick, perfect lips--

His eyes flash open, hand stilling guilty. He bangs his head against the tile, cursing his fucked-up mind. He was so not thinking about his guardian angel while jerking off, he just was _not_. He nearly groans in frustration. It just...happened, and now he can’t un-see what his mind projected so readily. He grimaces and closes his eyes again, resting his forehead against the wall of the shower and tries again to get off.

It takes an obscenely short amount of time, what with his brain permanently stuck on the Cas Channel and as he spills into his fist and drips down his hand into the swirling water he realizes, with a depressed groan, that instead of feeling relief or sated, he feels even hornier than he was before.

In all his years, he has never, not once, even remotely considered the possibility that he might be into guys. It was just a non-issue. So the fact that he is having sex dreams and jerking off to Cas is scaring the shit out of him. He isn’t an idiot. He knows Cas is an attractive male with qualities that any hot-blooded human--male or female-- might like to jump on. And five years ago he wouldn’t have given it a single thought.

But ever since Cas had crowded into him all those years ago, eyes like steel, and told Dean to show him some respect or _else,_ something had switched in Dean. From then on everything Cas said or did he took notice of, with more regard than probably healthy. Hell, everyone around him knew Cas preferred him above anyone else. They had a bond, or some shit. He shrugged it off at first as insignificant, but he still had Cas’s damned handprint on his shoulder, so it became increasingly difficult to ignore.

And then Cas had beat the living crap outta him, pinned him to a building in some alleyway, indignation dripping from every word, and Dean hadn’t cared in that moment, whether he lived or died. Hell, he would have welcomed it, even. But as ever, Dean was Cas’s Achilles Heel. For the first time, Dean had witnessed, first hand, the wrath of Cas. And it was a beautiful thing. Even after a fractured cheekbone and bruised ribs and bloody mouth, even after the scornful, disappointed look Cas directed at him, all Dean wanted was even more attention from the angel.

He suddenly knows Cas would never really harm him, not physically anyway. No matter what Dean threw at him, Cas never faltered after that. But to this day he can still remember the heat radiating off of him as he ground up against Dean, face inches away, feeling the blazing intensity of his eyes, and knowing, knowing that all he did he did for Dean. It’s such an intense thought he can’t even process it fully.

He feels the same lack of power now, surrendering to his traitorous thoughts and cursing his own weakness. And Cas _is_ his weakness, as much as Sam is.

His body still hums with repressed energy and it’s almost brutal in its intensity. Avoiding Cas doesn’t help because when he’s apart he only wants to be closer and he certainly doesn’t want Cas to notice and question him about his distant nature.

***

Sam leaves for a few days. They get an urgent call for help, extra hunters needed for a vampire raid. Dean practically shoves Sam out the door. It won’t do for both of them to keep cooped up with nothing to do. So it’s just him and Cas.

Cas doesn’t talk much but Dean doesn’t mind. He finds the angel a calming presence, despite the turmoil inside his mind and body. But every time Cas looks at him for any length of time he nearly has a panic attack, like his eyes are arresting him on the spot and he’s powerless against the scrutiny.

After a few too many beers one night he has the courage to voice his fears. “Cas, I’m not sure how much longer I’m gonna be able to hold out for. It’s getting stronger every day. I feel...like my body is not my own. It’s telling me to do one thing and my mind another. I feel like I’m gonna puke every time I wake up and my arm burns constantly. This just fucking sucks.”

Cas comes over to him, sits right next to him, his body emitting warmth like a radiator. He looks concerned, dejected. “What do you need?”

Dean gapes, not quite drunk enough to misinterpret the question. He looks down at his lap, shrugs helplessly because his voice has dried up after Cas’s earnest inquiry. He takes another sip of his beer, simply to keep busy. A warm hand covers his own and the bottle. He freezes. Cas slowly wrenches the bottle away, sets it down. Dean’s heart is one step away from a full blown cardiac arrest.

“Dean,” he gently admonishes. “This isn’t helping. If you’re in pain, you have to let me help. I’m not sure what I can do, but drinking your troubles away is never the answer.”

Dean feels annoyed. “It’s none of your business how much I drink. I don’t need a babysitter, Cas, so lay off.” He means to stand but his head spins and nausea overtakes him. He closes his eyes and hangs his head.

Cas sighs loudly, and grabs Dean by the shoulder. He pulls him up with no problems and Dean is stunned to obey so readily. He’s nearly drooped over Cas as the angel guides him back to his room, dimming the lights as he helps Dean to bed. Dean drops instantly and screws his face in discomfort. “Why must you be so stubborn, Dean,” Cas grates out, even as he gently removes his shoes. Dean doesn’t answer but he feels like he should, like his pride is at stake. But the room spins so he shuts his eyes and says nothing, the light getting hazier with each ragged breath. The last thing he feels is warm fingers running gingerly through his hair, soothing him to sleep.

***

“What do your wings look like?” Dean asks a day later, so utterly bored he’s willing to pick an unsafe topic. Cas looks at him, mildly surprised by the question. He feels like a dick, asking, since that fucker Metatron stole Cas’s wings. But Cas doesn’t seem to mind the inquiry.

“Well, as I’ve said before, my true form is larger than you can fathom. Spread out, you’d never see to the ends of my wings, not from the ground anyway. Oh, and they’re gray, you’d call it. Various shades of gray.” He turns back to his book he’s browsing and Dean just stares.

He grows cold suddenly, struck by the sheer impossibility that is Cas. He keeps forgetting, that Castiel is in fact a celestial being, from Heaven no less. An angel with incalculable power and radiance. And for some reason he chose to attach himself to Dean. Dean, who is worth nothing compared to this angel, one of God’s children. “Wow,” he says, because there’s nothing else he can say.

He feels dirty for dreaming of Cas, of doing things to Cas, with Cas. He feels like he’s wasting Cas’s time, like the angel should be at home, his real home, and not with him and Sam. Especially with Metatron locked away. It isn’t right. It’s a fucking travesty.

“Why are you here, Cas,” he whispers, his voice mangled. Blue eyes grab hold, a frown marring the peaceful face. Dean feels helpless and weak, but he can’t fool Cas anyway with the macho charade. Not anymore. Cas closes the book. “Why are you asking me this? Where else would I be?”

Dean swallows, licks his lips. “I mean, I’m sure you have other, better things you could be doing. You’re an angel, Cas. Or have you forgotten?”

Cas tilts his head, the crease between his brows getting deeper. “Dean, where is this coming from? I choose to be here, you know this. I haven’t forgotten who or what I am. But you’re my friend. You and Sam both. And if I can help in any way, I will. You know I would die for you, Dean. I _have_ died for you,” he says, matter of fact.

Dean can’t speak. He just gawks, as his arm perpetually burns and his insides feel like rot, he just stares at his friend, his guardian angel. Cas approaches, eyeing Dean hesitantly, then he slowly reaches, as not to startle, and rests his palm against Dean’s shoulder, the same spot where his own handprint is still etched like a brand. He squeezes and Dean releases a shaky breath, like the touch is both wanted and feared. He hangs his head, allowing Cas to draw him in. He feels Cas’s breath along his neck and he nearly dies. The angel’s hands draw circles on his back, soothing, relaxing. Dean wants to give in, to allow the comfort given. But his mind fights him with every breath. He grits his teeth in agony, wanting to wrap his arms around Cas but doesn’t dare to even move.

Cas leans close to his ear, whispering, “Let me in, Dean. I want to help.” Dean shuts his eyes from the rumble deep in Cas’s throat, his body reacting against his will. He stifles a gasp and slowly moves back, away from the warmth. Cas lets go as Dean shuffles awkwardly away. He doesn’t want to run from the room, because that would involve questions later on.

He coughs slightly, eyes avoiding Cas. “I know you wanna help, Cas. And I’m grateful. But I don’t think you can, not with this.” He pauses a beat before walking away, fighting the desire to look back.

***

Sam returns, and instantly notices the tension. Dean has taken to spending a stupid amount of time in his room and when he’s out he tries to avoid Cas if at all possible. Dinnertime is awkward and Sam frowns between his brother and Cas until he finally heaves a sigh. “What? What’s going on with you two?”

Dean takes a swig of his beer and says nothing, doesn’t even blink at the question, untouched plate of food in front of him. Cas doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading. Sam purses his lips and directs a look at Cas, since he knows he’ll get nothing out of Dean. Cas doesn’t look up, but he does answer Sam’s question finally. “Dean has decided I’m of no help to him or his problem and has chosen the role of petulant child.” He turns a page like nothing and resumes his reading.

Sam turns to Dean, arms crossed. “Dean?”

“Leave it, Sam. I merely stated the truth. There’s no point pretending otherwise. Angel or not, Cas can’t help me with this.”

“Really, Dean? Cas is here for you, for us, and that’s all you have to say? He doesn’t have to be here, you know.”

Dean glares up at Sam. “He’s only here cause he thinks I’ll crack and kill you in your sleep or something. Where was he when we needed him before? I feel suffocated over here! You guys can’t keep me locked up in this cage and think it’s gonna help me. The Mark wants what it wants and sooner or later it’ll find a way.”

Sam gapes at his brother, face shifting between horrified to incredulous. “What the hell are you talking about, Dean? What’s with you?”

Dean stands suddenly, chair scraping backwards loudly. “You are. And him,” he sneers at Cas. You both think you know me so well, that you mean well. Let me tell you something, both of you. You don’t know shit about me or the way I feel inside, every second of the day. So please shut the fuck up.” He marches off, fists clenched.

He paces his room, anger brimming dangerously underneath the surface. His whole body feels on fire and it’s all fucking Cas’s fault. Ever since the night he held him and made him believe he was worthy of his attention, Dean just wants to crawl into a hole and never come out again. It’s like he’s a magnet being pulled towards something he can never have.

Because that’s what it all comes down to: He wants Cas.

He’s made peace with it. At least to a point. He’s tired of the dreams and the innocent stares and the voice that was clearly made to make Dean lose his mind. He gets it. He knows damn well what attraction feels and looks like. But that’s the problem. He’s never been attracted to someone he couldn’t have. He’s never before felt the need to repress his desire, to let it consume him so. He’s slowly going insane.

He feels sick all the time, sweaty, nauseous, and agitated, and tired, so fucking tired, no matter how long he sleeps. It’s been too long and the Mark is pissed at him now. He’s so sexually frustrated it’s not helping anything. There are times he wakes from one of his torturous sex dreams and wants to find Cas, corner him and press his body up against him, not even giving him an option.

He’ll never do it. He’d rather deal with the pain than face Cas’s rejection. He could bear anything else if it came to it, but not that. He couldn’t lose Cas. He’d wallow in misery for the rest of his pitiful life.

***

It’s late when decides to leave him room. Past midnight and he’s beyond ravenous. He can’t remember when he ate last but he’s not gonna be able to sleep without something in his stomach. He pads barefoot down the darkened hall, past Sammy’s closed door and down to the kitchen.

He goes straight for the fridge but finds it lacking. It’s full of food, all sorts of food, but he finds his stomach rebelling in disappointment as he stares at the offering. He closes it with a hard thump and rummages through the cabinets. They’re not as stocked but most of the canned stuff doesn’t spark his interest. There’s a bag of chips that he finally settles on, stuffing a palmful in his mouth all at once. It’s like stale cardboard. He grimaces and practically runs to get a glass of water.

He’s drunk nearly a gallon by the time he realizes he’s not alone. Placing the glass on the countertop with a purposeful clink he wipes at his mouth and turns around.

“Hey, Cas. Fancy a midnight snack?”

Castiel stands in doorway, leaning against the jam, in a decidedly human pose. His hands are inside his trouser pockets and his shirt is unbuttoned at the collar and actually untucked, something Dean doesn’t miss at all. His mouth goes dry as he stares--but really, really tries not to--and hardly believes it’s an angel in front of him.

“What’s the matter, Dean? Lost your appetite?”

The way he says it stops the next breath from leaving, and Dean blinks, focusing entirely on Cas’s eyes. It’s a look he hardly ever sees. It’s almost mocking. Dean swallows, decides he loathes the way it looks on Cas’s face and clenches his jaw.

“Why you asking, Cas?”

The angel is suddenly moving towards him and he hardly remembers him leaving the doorway but now he’s a few feet away, expression dark and ominous, and it suddenly reminds Dean of another time, and a certain alleyway. He tilts his chin up, like he’s not at all intimidated, when in actuality he’s one breath away from cowering in the corner.

“You think I don’t know what you’re feeling, or what you’re dealing with,” Cas says, steadily, sharp, piercing eyes flickering all across Dean’s face. “You think I don’t remember what pure power feels like? I’ve had a million souls inside me, Dean. I’ve had the oldest, most powerful beings running through this body. Even when I knew the Leviathan were starting to control me, even when this vessel caused so much death, I still was not ready to relinquish that power. I had never felt anything like it. Pure energy coursing through my body.”

Dean’s heart rattles in his chest painfully and it is everything he can do not to look away from the storm brewing in Cas’s eyes. “It’s not the same. You know it’s not,” a harsh whisper passes his lips. Cas’s eyes flare for a split second and once again Dean is reminded of what Castiel actually is.

“I was defiled by those creatures, Dean. And it was my own doing. I thought I could do it all alone, take on that responsibility all by myself. I felt I needed no one. I was wrong.”

Dean narrows his eyes. “You know what, Cas? It doesn’t matter whether you’re here or not, cause at the end of the day if you can’t rip this Mark from me then you’re as useless as Sam is.” Jesus he really can’t keep his big mouth shut. He watches as Cas closes off, straightens out, shrugs off Dean’s cruel barb. And it was cruel, especially since he doesn’t mean a fucking word. He’d be a complete mess without Cas. He’s just too pissed to realize it at the moment.

He turns away, rubbing at his face in frustration. His life is such a fucking mess and he can’t even begin to search for a way out of the muck. He leans against the countertop with his hands, shoulders slumped, eyes clenched tight.

“Why does the food taste like shit?” he huffs out because he knows Cas actually had a purpose in coming to him.

“The Mark is punishing your body, leeching off your soul bit by bit until you are just a shell, clawing for the one thing it wants.”

Dean shivers at the tone, goosebumps rising all over his body. He knew it, he didn’t have to have Cas spell it out for him, but confirmation was always nice. Cas must’ve been reading while Dean was throwing a fit in his room. He cranes his neck, his body tingling with awareness.

“Awesome,” he whispers, so fucking tired. His body aches and groans, neck stiff, muscles straining, fighting the Mark with everything left. Suddenly, he feels warmth at his back, like standing close to an open oven. Fingers press into the steel countertop for purchase, his pulse racing erratically.

“It’s going to be like this, Dean,” the voice croons. “Slowly driving you insane as you lose focus and purpose. Until you sink that blade into flesh or until you die from misery.” He feels breath on his ear, light and arid. He swallows roughly.

“You won’t let me die, will you, Cas?” He says it jokingly, but it sounds broken to his ears, pleading. He hates himself for it and he clenches his eyes tighter. It’s too bad his other senses are just as in tune as his vision. He hears the rustling and feels the movement behind him and in a second, Cas’s body is an inch from his back, but he might as well have been plastered over him.

“I’d never let you fail, Dean,” Cas says in his ear and Dean’s arms almost give out. He grits his teeth. “That isn’t what I asked.” The breath trails across the back of his neck and he doesn’t even need to look down to know he’s rock hard and he has to fight to choke on the moan he is about to release.

He hears a soft huff, like Cas is laughing at him, indulging him, and then the voice moves to his other ear, just as warm and gentle. “I would die first.”

Dean’s jaw is clenched so tight it actually hurts and his legs feel unsteady and shaky. “Cas. What the hell are you doing?” he demands in an undignified huff like he’s lost voice. He’s flush all over and he thanks God it’s semi-dark in the kitchen so Cas can’t see the effect he’s having on him. Not like it’s not fucking noticeable.

He doesn’t like the trapped feeling all of a sudden and makes to stand but his back as it straightens rams right against Cas’s torso and he freezes because he has no fucking clue what to do. Nothing about this situation can be construed as normal or even heterosexual. Cas is practically leaning over Dean and he has to do something, like now or else-

A strong, smooth hand covers one of his own and he flinches in shock but there’s nowhere to go, no place to move. He’s trapped between Cas and the countertop and his mind blanks to white. “Cas? What the fuck,” he repeats, in proper English, just in case Cas forgot himself.

He’s so rigid he might as well be a statue and he grits his teeth to prevent the snarl threatening to escape. Another solid touch scorches his back, and it’s just Cas’s hand, pressing against his spine, and he’s powerless against the weight. His back droops like liquid and he has to remember his hands are still holding him up as a whoosh of hot air escapes his lips.

“You haven’t been doing your homework, Dean,” intones Cas as Dean’s eyes pop open. _What the fuck_ , is all his brain can provide. “But I have. I’ve read every single tome this Bunker has regarding...this,” and the fingers covering his hand inch up his forearm to rest against Cain’s Mark. It’s hardly a touch but his arm feels scorched at the site and he flinches, hissing in genuine pain. Cas doesn’t offer an apology, simply removes his hand, settling it on the countertop this time, pressed against Dean’s.

“You don’t know anything about it, do you? Not really. The Mark will never let you alone. It demands payment, always. If you deny It, It will deny you. The pleasure of food, for instance. The pleasure of the flesh,” he breathes, and Dean cringes from the torture of it, turning his face downwards. “Until you have nothing left to offer except your life. Only then will it be silenced.”

“Why are you telling me all this,” Dean grounds out, anger brimming. He wants to push Cas back, punch him in his smug face. He hears the soft laughter against his neck, as Cas brings his hand up Dean’s spine, to the nape of his neck, curving his fingers against the damp skin to slide up against Dean’s scalp.

Dean dies. Or at least he blacks out for a moment and miraculously finds himself still standing. Cas has never touched him like this. Hell, no one’s ever touched him the way Cas is touching him right now. And it’s nothing but fingertips through his hair, grazing his scalp deliciously, but he feels it in every inch of his body, like he’s brimming with energy.

“Cas.” Such a simple name for an angel of Heaven. But the way it flows from his lips is a benediction and he’s suddenly not sure if he’s pleading for an end to this torture or for Cas to never stop touching him.

Cas removes the fingers from his hair and Dean whimpers pathetically, but Cas lays his hand against Dean’s side and he’s suddenly flush with the angel and he feels his cock leaking beneath his sweats. He shuts his eyes because he should feel ashamed but he feels the complete opposite and he still doesn’t dare move because moving would acknowledge the fact that he doesn’t wish for this...whatever it is, to proceed. So he grits his teeth and regulates his breathing as best he can as he feels Cas’s hand slowly move from his side downwards.

“Cas…” he keens but it sounds frightened and the hand stills as Cas’s chin grazes the back of Dean’s neck. “I know what you crave, Dean,” comes the silky gravel. “And it’s not blood. Tell me it’s not true, and I’ll let you leave. Leave the Bunker, I won’t stop you.”

Dean’s mouth goes dry as his mind goes haywire. This is so fucked up he doesn’t even know where to begin. He’s actually sweating from the stress and the furnace at his back. His mouth refuses to work, to deny everything, because what the fuck is the point? Cas knows. He so fucking knows everything. He knows Dean more intimately than he knows anyone else. He rebuilt him for fuck’s sake.

He parts his dry lips but the sound that passes is like a deflated balloon, weary and sad. His whole body droops in defeat and Cas takes his silence as an admission. Hot, nimble fingers reach across his hip, sending spikes of pleasure and heat all over. He feels the friction through his thin sweats and nearly cries out in shock as he is suddenly enveloped by Cas’s firm hand. The fingers squeeze and his cock twitches unbearably and this time he can’t contain the whimper.

His first coherent thought is, _oh my God Sam is in his room right now and could come out and find them at any moment_ , which is odd, because his first thought _should_ have been, _oh my God another guy is grabbing my cock and why am I not having a panic attack about that yet?_

And yet all thought soon leaves him as Cas slowly, painfully, excruciatingly, slides his hand from root to tip, as Dean tries to hold up his quivering body. He’s soaked with sweat, his t-shirt clinging to him uncomfortably. And Cas is still pressed up against him, unbuttoned ruffled dress shirt and all.

Hot breath against his neck and ear slowly drives him insane and it’s all too much and not enough because he needs, he just fucking needs Cas to slide his hand inside his pants but there’s no way in hell he is going to ask, he just is _not_. Instead he jerks forward in Cas’s grip, unaware he is even doing it until he hears the amused huff behind him.

He’s pissed Cas finds this so amusing but before he can tell him to fuck off he gets his damned wish and the hand is under his waistband and inside his boxers before he can take his next breath. The grip is tight and silky and exactly what he wants and he’s choking on his next breath as a strangled sound he barely recognizes comes out of his mouth.

Cas picks up speed, his thumb flicking over the tip of Dean’s cock, rubbing his precome all over like the perfect lubricant. Dean’s gone, he’s so done and he doesn’t even care anymore as he grunts his release, head so low he nearly smacks it against the steel countertop. Cas holds him upright as he fights exhaustion and embarrassment.

He just fucking jizzed in his pants like a teenager.

This is the part where he’s supposed to feel sick, puke his guts out and die from shame. When none of that happens he takes a deep breath, and realizes that Cas is no longer pressed up against him. Strangely, he misses the warmth, the comfort. He raises his head and straightens out. His arms kill from leaning on the countertop so long, his muscles strained and taut.

He knows he’s stalling but his mind is so blown right now he can’t even find words. Wiping the sweat as well as all emotion from his face, he slowly turns, facing Cas.

The angel is a few feet back, pose relaxed, yet wanting. Cas’s eyes are nearly black and Dean swallows loudly because it’s a look he recognizes all too well. Guy or girl he knows lust when he sees it. He’s sure if he glances down Cas will be sporting a bit of a tent in his rumpled trousers.  His hair is mussed and his cheeks glow with a slight flush. Cas is fucking attractive and he’d be blind not to acknowledge the fact.

He doesn’t know what to do with his hands and the silence is beyond awkward but he doesn’t even know what to say. Thank you? He mentally groans. A furrow appears between Cas’s brow and Dean frowns until he realizes it’s disappointment he’s seeing, but Cas covers it up in a second, tilting his head away from Dean, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. He stuffs his hands in his trousers and gazes back at Dean, face a mask.

“You should be feeling a bit better now.” Cas licks his lips, like he’s carefully trying to get his next words out. “Goodnight, Dean.” He turns on his heel and Dean is suddenly alone, his heart aching painfully in his chest. He gapes at the empty space and is suddenly chilled to the bone.

Cas is right. He does feel better, physically. More relaxed, more...fulfilled. His headache is gone and he actually feels rested and sated. His mind, on the other hand…

Guilt. Gnawing, immediate, loathing guilt. As soon as Cas walked out he felt it, seeping into his blood, his chest. He just fucking stood there. God, what a dick. He closes his eyes, rubs his forehead. He’s suddenly aware of the cooling stickiness inside his pants. Cringing, he leaves the kitchen and goes to take a shower.

He sits naked on his bed, hunched and deflated, feeling like the lowest form of shit there is. Every time he takes a breath he feels a thousand needles poking at his heart. And every time he closes his eyes he sees Cas’s falling face, such a small, subtle movement that speaks volumes to Dean. He is such a coward. He groans, rubbing at his head in frustration, hair still damp from the shower.

He gets off the bed, finds a clean pair of sweats, forgoes the boxers and plops back down, face smashing into the pillows. He fidgets for a while, sleep strangely eluding him, despite his body’s drowsy state. He can’t shut his mind off, his fingers clenching into his pillow at the memory of Cas’s crestfallen face.

He turns on his back and stares up at the dark ceiling, drumming his fingertips against his chest. He brings back the memory of what happened in the kitchen, of the wonderful heat and Cas’s warm, sultry voice, and the way he felt when Cas slid his fingers across his scalp, along his bare skin. It wasn’t an accident, the way his body reacted. It’s not like he just woke up and realized there was...something there with Cas. Something he didn’t want to think about. Because why in the hell would Cas ever feel the same way.

He stills his finger thumping, replaying that last thought. And how wrong he was. Cas does care. He more than cares. He proved that tonight. He knew Dean needed help and he knew he’d never ask for it. So Cas took the initiative, knowing Dean wouldn’t refuse him. Because deep down, Dean wanted it to happen. He craved it. He fucking dreamt about it. And what did he do? He just stood there like a fucking idiot and watched the effect his silence had on Cas.

He is a fucking idiot.

He flies off his bed, bare feet hardly feeling the cold floor. He stalks down the dark hallway and stands in front of Cas’s door. He doesn’t allow himself to think, just raises his arm and knocks. He knows Cas doesn’t sleep, at least not with his grace at full capacity. Still, it’s an awkward few seconds before the door finally opens.

Cas stands in the same clothing as before, but he’s rolled his sleeves to his elbows and he’s fixed his hair so it’s not so wild. And his eyes are still that fucking blue and he’s staring at Dean in question, or worry or something that Dean can’t name but whatever it is he wants to wipe it from his face because he’s been such an idiot.

“I’m a dick. I’m sorry.”

Cas’s eyes crinkle with confusion but Dean doesn’t let him talk. He stalks forward, blindly shutting the door behind him. Cas notices his bare chest, eyes flickering back to his eyes in question and Dean steps up to him, his taller frame crowding the angel until they’re inches apart.

“I’m an idiot, Cas. I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice hardly more than a whisper. Then he grabs the sides of Cas’s face and leans in. He’s firm and not very gentle, but Cas doesn’t seem to mind in the least. Dean’s heart fills as the angel groans in the back of his throat and suddenly pushes forward, crushing Dean’s back against the door.

Cas’s arms clench onto Dean’s shoulders, firm and unyielding and Dean’s hard in an instant. Cas is in the same state pressed up against him, and the feel of another man’s dick doesn’t send him into a panicked frenzy as he feared. Instead it ignites his blood until all his thoughts are consumed by _Cas_.

“Dean,” Cas breaks away and the sound of his name on those lips drives him insane. “Yeah, I’m here, Cas.” He trails wet kisses along Cas’s scruffy jaw, and the sensitive spot under his ear, his pulse racing under Dean’s tongue. Cas’s hands are all over, along his chest, clenched around his neck, fingertips sliding under the waistband of his pants.

As perfect as he feels, he still wants to get more comfortable. He finds one of Cas’s hands, gripping tight and pushing him backwards, all the while making sure his lips never leave Cas’s perfect face. He backs Cas up to the bed and he shoves him hard and then he’s crawling over Cas, straddling him, feeling the friction in his lower half.

Cas grounds up into him and he moans into Cas’s mouth, reveling in the exquisite whimpering noises Cas is fighting to hide. “Don’t,” he chides. “I want to hear every sound. I wanna hear what you sound like when you come.” He’s usually not much of a talker during sex but he wants Cas to know, to realize what he’s doing to him. What he means to him.

Dean reaches down and blindly unzips Cas’s trousers, cursing the awkward position. Cas smiles against him and leans back slightly with a mischievous twinkle in his eye… and suddenly Dean is leaning over a very naked Cas.

“Holy fuck!” His face splits into a grin. “You are awesome, Cas.” He sits back just to admire the form beneath him. Vessel or no, it’s still Cas looking up at him, searing into his soul, Cas moving beneath him, warm and firm and fucking hot. He leans forward and captures the waiting lips, his chest flush against Cas.

His heart is beating erratically and it’s suddenly overwhelming. His breath hitches and he leans his forehead against Cas’s, his chest expanding painfully. Cas senses the change automatically.

“Dean? Are you alright?” He reaches up, cupping the sides of Dean’s face, pulling him gently away. Dean’s eyes are shut tight, mouth pursed and trembling. “Look at me, Dean,” Castiel commands and it’s instant, like he can’t deny the angel anything. Green eyes meet blue ones and he’s petrified by what he sees. It’s too much, all at once, and he fights to look away, but Cas just won’t let him.

“Tell me,” he whispers soothingly, thumbs grazing Dean’s cheekbones. Dean leans into the touch like a purring kitten and it calms his nerves slightly. He swallows roughly, licks his lips. “I don’t know what I’m doing here, Cas,” he admits feebly. “I’ve never done...this. And you-- you’re...a freaking _angel_ , Cas and I’m...this isn’t what you...deserve.” His breath is shattered as he finishes and he feels like the biggest fool for letting it get this far.

“Dean, do you honestly think I would allow this proceed if I didn’t wish it? That I would have allowed it happen? That just because I am an angel I can’t _feel_ or _want?_ Because you’re wrong. I’ve always known what I wanted. But if you’re not sure, or you want to stop, just say the word. I never want you to feel uncomfortable, Dean. Just tell me what you want, and it’s yours.”

Dean huffs a bitter laugh. “I don’t wanna stop, Cas, I don’t, I swear. I want this. I want it in ways that scare me. I just,” he looks away, not sure what to say.

“I know you’ve never been with another man, Dean. I understand.”

Dean doesn’t want Cas to understand. He doesn’t want him to change his mind and he certainly doesn’t want to change his. He reaches up and swipes his fingers through Cas’s hair, something he’s secretly wanted to do for a long time. He quells the surging panic, meets Cas’s dilated eyes.

“I want this. I want you.”

Cas smiles, teeth and all and Dean is fucking amazed that it’s aimed at him. Before he has a chance to ponder anything further he finds himself on his back, an angel looming above him. Warm air leaves his lips in a whoosh and he leers up at Cas, who smirks back just as lasciviously.

“Dean Winchester,” he sighs, hand roaming down the man’s torso. “Only you could do this to me. I can’t explain it. I can hardly fight it. You drive me crazy and I can’t understand _why,”_ his hand slips inside Dean’s sweats, brow rising at the lack of underwear, then envelopes his hard cock. Dean arches off the bed, head tilting back until he sees stars.

“I… have that effect… on people,” he manages between breaths. Cas smirks, squeezing harder. “You know I’ve never done this either,” Cas says, pupils blown black. “But living over two thousand years, I’ve come to understand things. If you’ll allow me?”

Dean nods, agreeing to whatever. He’ll agree to anything right now, so long as Cas keeps going. The hand pumping his cock pauses and Dean’s eyes blast open as he suddenly finds himself very naked. He fucking loves that trick!

Cas crawls down, eyes always on Dean’s and as soon as Dean realizes what’s about to happen he nearly whimpers. “If you want me to stop, just say the word,” Cas reminds him but his mind can’t process the words right now so he blindly nods, nearly thrusting his hips up at Cas. The angel’s eyes crinkle mischievously and Dean wants to see how many times he can recreate that look because he knows he’ll never tire of seeing it.

He’s been the receiver of many blowjobs in his life. Hundreds of them, thousands, maybe. He’s never turned one down. And for the most part, they’ve all been pretty amazing. But as soon as Cas’s mouth envelopes him, his memory is wiped of all his past experiences, because this is the only one he cares to remember from this moment on. Because _holy fuck_. Cas’s mouth is like a furnace and he’s shocked he doesn’t come in the first five seconds. Instead he fists the sheets, fists Cas’s hair, yanks on his own, curses, curses some more, pleads and begs (though he’ll deny it afterwards) and finally, finally is allowed his release. Cas swallows it up and licks his lips after for good measure. Dean’s head feels like a nuclear bomb went off inside and every nerve ending in his body is tingling.

There’s nothing to compare it to because he’s never felt this way. It’s like Cas infused part of himself to Dean and it’s all he can think of now. It’s all he feels.

When he finally comes down from his high, Cas is patiently waiting above him, straddling Dean’s thighs. He beckons with a hand because he still can’t speak but Cas gets it, and crawls up over him. He wraps sweaty arms around Cas, pulling him down for a sloppy kiss, his tongue mingling with Cas’s even as he tastes the bitter remnants of his own semen. He finds he doesn’t give a shit.

He rakes his fingertips across Cas’s back, idly wondering if he’s as sensitive as Dean is. The way Cas arches his back and keens low in his throat is a good indicator, however. He can feel Cas’s erection pressing against his hip and he badly wants to make Cas feel like Dean feels right now.

The nervousness returns despite his adrenaline rush and Cas seems to sense it because he’s that in tune with Dean. Without breaking their kiss Cas finds Dean’s hand, gripping at the wrist, and guides him lower. Dean gets the hint and appreciates the help because this is indeed a first for him.

Cas presses Dean’s hand against his jutting erection and this time their mouths do part, breaths caught in their throats. Dean stares up at Cas, gauging every flicker on his face. The organ in his hand is hot and smooth, not so different from his own. He relaxes slightly, especially as he continues to watch Cas, loving seeing all the various stages of pleasure flickering across his face.

He swipes his thumb across the tip and Cas shudders above him, eyes snapping shut. Dean suddenly realizes that Cas has never experienced this. Save for that stupid bitch reaper that stabbed him through the heart, Cas has never been with another human being before, man or woman. It’s almost shocking to ponder, and Dean silently vows to show Cas what it’s supposed to be like, what he’s been missing for two millennia.

Emboldened, he grabs Cas’s erection and firmly strokes it, as Cas fights to hold himself up above him. It’s not the best angle but he’s pretty sure Cas isn’t going to last long. He braces a hand on Cas’s forearm and the other goes to town, stroking, gliding, pumping.

Cas’s head falls back, revealing long, pale neck, beading with sweat. His whole body tightens above Dean and he feels warm spurts across his torso and waist. The tendons in Cas’s neck bulge and it’s the most intoxicating sight Dean’s ever seen. He let’s go of Cas’s sensitive cock and attacks his neck, lapping at the salty sweat, fingers roughly plummeting through his hair.

“Fuck, Cas,” he moans in between heated kisses. “That was amazing. You’re amazing.” He never wants to let him go. He feels Cas’s heart frantically beating beneath his ribcage and he places his warm palm against his chest. Cas’s hand closes over and he leans his forehead against Dean’s, both out of breath and drained.

Eyes closed, Dean pulls on Cas’s arms, gesturing for him to lay down. Cas obliges and lays on the pillow next to Dean, an arm and a leg still draped over the other man.

“We should probably get cleaned up,” Cas says, voice hoarse and care-free. “Mm,” replies Dean, half-way to slumber. “Mojo can clean us up,” he mumbles incoherently. Cas smiles into his pillow, but doesn’t do what Dean suggests, considering he doesn’t have an unlimited amount of grace to spare any more. Instead, whether because of the energy spent, or some other mystery, Cas falls asleep right alongside Dean.

***

Frantic knocking wakes Dean from his glorious slumber. He barely has his eyes open before a heavy weight shifts off him, and he frowns lazily in disappointment. He vaguely senses Cas walking across the room to open the door, though he should probably be more alarmed by the fact, since his brother is the only other occupant in the Bunker.

“I can’t find Dean!” he hears Sam blurt anxiously. Then, the longest pause in the history of pauses as Sam surely by now realizes Cas is very much naked and Dean can pretty much guess his brother is peeking around the angel to glance inside his room.

“Oh God…”

Dean hears clumsy footfalls as Sam backs away in a hurry and he can pretty much picture the shocked look on his face. Dean sighs into his pillow, not in the mood to deal with anything right now. He feels a weight on the bed as Cas sits back down.

“Dean… Perhaps you should go speak with Sam. He seemed… quite alarmed.”

“M’ a big boy, Cas. I can do what I want. None of Sam’s business,” he sleepily slurs, face buried in the pillow. A warm hand settles on his back and he leans into the touch.

“Still, it might be prudent to discuss it with him. In the meantime, I’m going to shower,” Cas announces, leaving Dean bereft and slightly disappointed. He certainly wouldn’t have minded more attention from Cas this morning.

As he hears the shower start up, he rolls onto his back and instantly feels his skin crimp on his torso. He crinkles his nose and realizes he’s still covered in dried up semen and Cas never actually cleaned him up after last night.

“Awesome,” he sighs, finally sitting up. He finds his discarded sweats and leaves Cas’s room to take a shower of his own. When he’s all clean and dressed, he heaves another sigh and goes to find Sam.

Predictably, he finds his brother in the library, though he’s not reading or working. He’s practically pacing the room, hands raking through his long hair. Dean stands in the doorway and Sam’s eyes find his, and his expression is murderous at best. His brother’s lips are curled in, like he’s trying to suppress all the rage coursing through him.

“What’s up, Sammy?” He crosses his arms nonchalantly and raises his brows at Sam’s agitated state.

Sam blows up. “What’s up? What the _hell_ , Dean! Have you completely lost your mind?”

Dean’s eyes narrow and he steps inside the room, shoulders raised in question. Sam’s frantically waving his long arms around. “What the hell have you done? Cas is an _angel_ , Dean. An angel. What were you _thinking_?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean intercedes, agitation of his own rising. “What do you think, I seduced Cas or something?”

Sam glowers, eyes beady with accusation, like it was precisely what he was thinking. He places his hands on his hips, waiting for a proper explanation from Dean, who just shrugs.

“What do you want me to say, Sam?”

“I found you in his room, Dean. _His_ room. What am I supposed to think?”

Dean frowns, annoyed he has to explain himself. “Cas is a big boy, Sam. He knows what he’s doing.”

“That’s the problem, Dean. Cas is blind when it comes to you. He’d do anything for you, even…” he doesn’t finish, but Dean’s gone cold, eyes turning to steel.

“What are you accusing me of, Sam? That I coerced Cas into sleeping with me? Jesus, Sam. How could you even think that?”

Sam’s expression doesn’t change. “Cas told me. He warned me about the Mark. And what would happen sooner or later. I get it, Dean, I get that you can’t always control your...urges or whatever the hell this Mark is making you feel--”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Sam? I would never, _ever_ lay a finger on Cas, or anybody who didn’t want it. I can’t believe I even have to defend myself to you,” he levels, disgust dripping from his mouth. He shakes his head and turns to leave.

“So what, you’re suddenly into guys?” Sam counters, still blind to the facts. Dean stops, turns his head. “No. Just into Cas.” He stalks away, heading to the kitchen. He actually feels like he could eat something this morning.

He finds Cas there, peeling an orange. When he sees Dean he offers it with a lopsided smile. His expression sooths the turmoil in Dean and he ignores the orange in favor of pulling Cas towards him and wrapping his arms around the slighter frame. Cas is momentarily confused by the sudden display but eventually reaches around--minding the orange--and hugs Dean back.

“How much did you hear,” Dean murmurs into his shoulder. Cas pulls away, eyes weary. “Enough.”

Dean licks his lips, unsurprised. He sighs, takes the orange and plops down in the closest chair. He peels the slices apart, popping them in his mouth and loving the juicy flavor. He’s so happy he’s able to stomach something finally, he doesn’t even mind that it’s an orange he’s eating.

“Sam’s just being childish. He’ll get over it.” He’s not sure who he’s trying to convince. Cas frowns, looks apologetic.

“It’s fine, Cas,” he forces a smile, but he doesn’t have to fake it for long; Cas is staring at him like he’s the most important thing in the world, and Dean is totally ok with that.

***

His head falls back so fast he’s dizzy, hands fisting the sheets until his knuckles burn. His entire body’s on fire and taut with tension and the most intense pleasure he’s ever felt. He wants to cry from the pain but it’s nothing compared to the rapture and he can’t even get the words out to beg because Cas is over him, fingers buried in his ass so deep he’s choking on them.

The moan coils up from his belly, burning his throat until it’s released in a desperate growl, needy and quivering.

“Breathe, Dean.”

He can’t breathe, he can barely keep it together without flailing on the bed like a skitzo patient. Cas has one hand on Dean’s thigh, for reassurance or simply to hold Dean still but he soothes the man with soft-spoken words, and lust-filled gazes. Dean can’t handle the torture anymore, he’s going to burst. It’s too much.

Cas seems to get it and withdraws his fingers, sparing a second to lean over and drop a kiss to Dean’s parted lips.

“Cas,” he moans, already missing the heat. “Breathe,” Cas gently reminds him again. Then he presses his hand against Dean and whispers something Dean doesn’t catch, and Dean nearly yelps from the sensation. Cas moves into position but pauses until Dean is able to look at him.

“If you want me to stop, just say the word.”

Dean licks his lips, shaking from head to toe. Despite Cas’s magic mojo trick, he’s fucking petrified but there’s no way he’s chickening out now, not after coming this far. He grabs hold of Cas’s forearms and pushes him closer.

“Do it.”

The pain is not what it could’ve been, thanks to Cas and his angel trick, but Dean is still unprepared. He gasps and Cas stills instantly and it takes him a whole minute, eyes clenched tight, face a mask in concentration, and Cas like a statue above him, and then he nods once, quick, and Cas eases in, inch by inch.

 _Christ. Fuck. Holy shit_. He hears Cas chuckle above him and he knows he said all that aloud and Cas isn’t even chiding him about blasphemy… His whole body is drenched in sweat and they haven’t even moved yet and Cas is wearing the most intense expression on his face and Dean forgets that Cas has never done this before, never felt anything remotely similar to this.

He gasps as Cas eases back out before slamming into him, hard, and Dean sees stars. He has his legs wrapped around Cas without even realizing it and he has to remember to breathe or he’s going to burst and the sounds Cas is making are doing things to his heart, breaking him apart piece by piece.

His eyes pop open as a particular sensitive spot is hit and his mouth hangs wide because _holy shit_ he’s never felt anything like that before. It’s so intense he grabs hold of Cas’s arms for purchase. He makes the mistake of meeting his eyes and Cas is fucking glowing, his eyes are so bright Dean has to look away. His heart lurches and once again he’s hit with the insane thought that he’s doing this with an angel and he’s going straight to hell for it.

Cas grabs Dean’s cock and his eyes shut automatically from the sensation. With Cas working that angle and his erection trapped in the heat of Cas’s hands he’s over the edge in no time. He clenches his jaw and arches his back and Cas’s mouth is on his to prevent the primal scream he’s about to rip from his throat. His eyes sting and he holds onto Cas for dear life, as the angel above him finds his release with a choked sigh, Enochian adulations surging from his lips, gripping Dean so tight there’ll be bruises for weeks.

Dean’s heart is both elated and heavy as he smooths Cas’s hair, damp and plastered to his forehead. He swallows roughly around the lump in his throat and he moves his head to the side because it’s just too much and he needs some damn air.

Cas gently moves away and Dean hardly feels it, though his head is pounding and his heart is being squeezed like a vice inside his chest. He still hasn’t moved even when Cas returns with a warm, damp flannel from the bathroom, cleaning Dean up without a word. Dean’s hand is pressed to his forehead, eyes squeezed shut and he wishes he could just fall asleep right now. But he feels Cas near him, feels the concern radiating from him.

“Dean. Are you alright?”

It’s on the tip of his tongue. _Fine_. Except he’s not. And because he can’t speak he minutely shakes his head. The reaction is instantaneous. Cas is next to him in a second, though he doesn’t touch Dean, like he’s terrified to inflict further pain on him. The thought kills Dean so he blindly reaches out and grasps Cas’s hand like he knew it would be there.

“Did I hurt you,” Cas asks, voice shaken. Dean swallows. “No,” he breathes, giving his head a shake for good measure. He licks his lips and steels himself. Taking a deep breath he opens his eyes, finding Cas. The angel is wearing a stricken expression and Dean wants so badly to reassure him but he doesn’t know where to start.

“If that was not preferable, you can be on top next time,” Cas says, and a hysterical giggle wants to burst out of Dean because _next time?_ Oh my God. “God, Sam was right,” he finally manages, though his voice doesn’t sound like him. “This is so fucked up.”

Cas frowns, eyes searching. “I don’t understand… I was under the impression that you enjoyed that.”

Dean leans up on his elbows, face inches from Cas’s. “God, Cas, you don’t even know. I’m a mess without you but I’m fucking poison to you. You’re an angel, Cas and I’m--this what we’re doing is...because of me. Because of this damned Mark,” he spits, unable to look Cas in the eye.

Cas sits up very straight and Dean can feel the tension radiating. “You think I am here because I know what you want? Because it will help you cope?” He glares and Dean can’t help but meet his eyes. “You still believe I cannot think for myself? After _everything_?” He removes his hand from Dean’s grip and it’s like a lifeline’s been severed. Dean blinks in shock but Cas is having none of it.

“How must I convince you, Dean? What must I do, what must I prove to you, that I do this because I love you and not because I know what’s best for you? I have given you everything I have to give and _still_ you doubt?”

Dean’s vision blurs and he reaches out, hand open. Cas stares at the offering but doesn’t move and Dean feels like a cavern sits between them. A tear escapes but he doesn’t go for it, just splays his hand, pleading, begging. “Please, Cas…” he chokes out, watery and broken.

The silence is deafening. Finally, Cas moves, bypassing Dean’s hand, placing his own against Dean’s face, thumbs wiping away the leaking trails down his cheeks. He pulls him in, and Dean falls against his shoulder, exhausted, a mess.

“You really love me, Cas?” he sniffs, hot breath against Cas’s bare skin.

“Don’t be an idiot, Dean,” Cas chides, but it’s lacking in bite as he threads his fingers through Dean’s hair. Dean stays silent but his mouth breaks into a smile against the pale flesh and they sit like that until Dean actually gets drowsy. Cas gently maneuvers them so Dean is lying on his chest, exhaustion taking over quickly.

“Sleep, Dean.”

***

Sam eyes him coolly but doesn’t comment on anything. Dean’s fine with that. He’s actually enjoying his foot long sub that he filled with everything under the sun. He’s enjoying food again and he’s glad to rub that in Sam’s face.

Finally Sam sighs. “Alright, Dean, I get it. You’re better. I’m not blind.”

Dean chews loudly for a minute, then swallows, takes a long sip of his water. Then he levels a stare at his brother. “Sure about that, Sammy?”

Sam fidgets in his chair like he knows the game Dean is playing. “Yes. I get it. You have a reprieve. For now.” He eyes Dean with raised brows until Dean gets annoyed, leaning back in his chair, appetite gone.

“Why can’t you just be happy for me? I’m not an idiot. I know the Mark’s not gonna leave me alone forever, not until it gets what it really wants. But for once I’m actually content and you can’t even see it,” he accuses bitterly.

Sam deflates, shame flashing briefly on his face before he looks away. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I’m glad you’ve found peace, or whatever, and I’m happy that you’re happy.”

Dean’s eyes narrow because he knows his brother better than anyone. “But you’re still not thrilled about Cas.”

Sam shrugs, actually looks sorry to be bringing it up. “Cas is an angel, Dean. I’m sorry, but he doesn’t belong to you. Or anyone. It’s just my opinion. I’m not saying what he feels for you isn’t genuine, but...would he still be here if he had his wings?”

Dean flinches because his own brother should fucking know better. “It’s Cas, Sammy,” he snarls low in his throat. “Cas would be here for _you_ if you needed help. No one is keeping him here against his will, and damn you for even thinking it out loud.”

Sam’s hands go up, placating. “You’re right, that was stupid of me to say. I know Cas isn’t the same angel we met all those years ago. I guess I still just see him as this immortal being that belongs in Heaven, not enclosed in some bunker in the middle of nowhere. But...you’re right. Cas can decide for himself what he wants. It’s none of my business.” He looks thoughtful for a moment, like he’s debating saying something. “Look, maybe… maybe this is what Cain was like when he got used to the Mark. Because of Colette. She kept him grounded and from going off the deep end.” Sam stares at Dean and Dean knows his brother is thinking of Cas in the same way.  He goes to stand, towering over Dean. “I’m glad he makes you happy.”

***

“Sam’s right about one thing.”

He’s in his room, propped up against Cas, body like an oven underneath him. The angel slowly cards his fingers through Dean’s hair, sending wonderful spikes of pleasure through him.

“What’s that?” Cas asks, not stopping his ministrations.

“This...thing isn’t going to work against the Mark forever. It’s like a giant band aid. And we don’t know how long until it unravels.”

Cas sighs, his whole chest heaving against Dean. “I won’t stop looking for a way to rid you of the Mark, Dean.”

“I know.”

“So until we find something, I have no problem with our current arrangement, do you?”

Hell fucking no. “No problem at all. As long as you’re here I’m good.”

“Where else would I be?”

Dean smiles, leaning further into the touch. He closes his eyes, too relaxed for anything else. Someday soon he’ll have to worry about the Mark all over again, but he won’t have to worry about Cas not being there for him.

_End._

 

  



End file.
